Trivia Pursuit

by Deanna K. Kreisel (Doctor Waffle Blog)

Let’s get the humble-bragging out of the way first: I’ve always had a remarkable memory. [1] I’m not sure if it’s photographic or “eidetic” (which apparently is the official-ish scientific term)—I’ve never had the experience of seeing an entire page of text in my mind’s eye and then literally reading it off, for example. It’s more like all the words are in my head, similar to a regular memory but much more detailed, and I can simply retrieve them. The range of things I can remember this way is selective: it doesn’t work for everything, and I need to concentrate (in other words, care) in order to be able to do it. But my powers of recall under certain circumstances are sideshow-level freaky. I’ve always been obnoxiously proud of this ability, which is ridiculous when you think about it—having unusual powers of recall is no different from being tall or color-blind or right-handed. And yet for some reason most people (myself included) are fascinated by this so-called “skill.”

A number of years ago, when I was still teaching at UBC, I saw an ad on a campus billboard for subjects for a memory experiment, and I jumped at the chance to show off. The experiment was a day-long affair: subjects would first have an MRI done of their brains, then do a bunch of memory tests, be given lunch, and then come back for more tests. I was interested in getting the MRI as well as the opportunity to showboat: as a semi-professional hypochondriac, I’m always happy to undergo free tests that will reassure me I don’t have a life-threatening tumor. Read more »



Monday Poem

The Hindu image of Anantashayana portrays the god Vishnu
reclining upon a coiled snake upon a raft floating in a sea of milk
dreaming up the universe

Until the Sacred Cows Come Home

Vishnu reclines and sleeps
dreaming up the world
…………………………..
He lounges upon a coiled snake
in the image of 
ananta shayana
floating on a raft
upon an ocean of milk
pacifying the characters of his dreams,
protecting his turf: his realm of
pleasure and pain; concocting
his improbable dream of a universe,
making it up as he goes

Here and there Vishnu floats
in the logic of dreams
sailing his ship of tales
–at sea but ever in sight of land;
singing, mything, pointing
he goes dreaming on,
sailing and sinking simultaneously;
doing and undoing his work at once
within the same thought,
bobbing on waves of light
while flinging its particles
into black holes

But he is never fickle.
Vishnu can never be fickle
because he’s divine

Any ordinary Joe or Ananda
would be ridiculed for insisting yes
and no in the same breath,
but not Vishnu

All Gods may contradict themselves
without flaw,
say men
(who always give their God
the benefit of a doubt
in any argument)

Faults may never be divine;
not earthquake or plague,
and especially not
the death-rattle of love

So Vishnu will sail on
upon his coiled snake,
upon his raft,
upon his ocean of milk,
with his sidekicks Brahma and Shiva
managing the staysail and jib,
dreaming, thinking, uttering
without pause, forever,
or until the sacred cows come home
and the last man disappears
–whichever comes first

Jim Culleny
2009

Restoring Eden: Our Long Journey to Recover American Lands

by Mark Harvey

American Beavers (Castor Canadensis)

If you submitted yourself to the idiotic torture over last week’s battle to elect the speaker of the house for the 118th Congress, then you deserve a break from that idiocy and the chance to think about something else. American politics at the national level make toxic uranium dumps seem like tea gardens. The petulance and pettiness of many of our politicians make daycare centers seem like bastions of diplomatic protocol.

But there are things to think about in this great land that are a salve and rampart against the most cretinous of our congresspersons: the many efforts of Americans to steward lands back to health.

Let’s not mince words: in a few hundred years on this continent, we have trashed millions of acres and imperiled thousands of species. From Seattle to Tampa, from Galveston to Fargo, and even in parts of Alaska, what we’re facing is the aftermath of a resource-eating orgy. Now we face the unpleasant hangover and picking up all the broken bottles. But some Americans with pluck, eternal optimism, can-do, and deep allegiance to the land are doing it. Read more »

The Federal Reserve’s Civilian Casualties

by Varun Gauri

Women walk among remains of residential buildings destroyed by shelling, as Russia’s invasion of Ukraine continues, in Zhytomyr, Ukraine March 2, 2022. REUTERS/Viacheslav Ratynskyi

When the Federal Reserve Bank raises interest rates to fight inflation, rates rise worldwide, and debts in developing countries become more difficult to service. The consequences for low-income countries can be severe. For instance, When Paul Volcker decided in the early 1980s to push the prime rate over 20%, he triggered a debt crisis in the developing world, causing catastrophic unemployment and poverty. The impact on Latin America exceeded that of the Great Depression, and was by some measures the worst financial disaster the world has ever seen. The ensuing cascade of poverty across Africa coincided with the emerging HIV/AIDS crisis, causing widespread misery. For instance, life expectancy, usually rising in the modern world, went, in Zimbabwe, from 61 years in 1984 to 48 years in 1997 (the interest rate shock was not the only cause). As historians note, a similar dynamic had played out in the 1920s, when the world’s main central banks raised interest rates, causing the price of grains and energy to become unaffordable for millions in colonies and low-income countries.

The practice continues. Recently, the covid pandemic, inflation, and the Russian invasion of Ukraine have pushed an estimated 75 million people into poverty. In this context, the Fed has been raising interest rates to bring down a mix of demand-led inflation, rooted in sectoral imbalances following the covid crisis, and supply-shock inflation, arising from the Russian invasion of Ukraine. The Fed’s aggressiveness is perilous for the poorest people in the world, and the warning signs of developing country debt crises are again flashing. Read more »

Featherweights and Heavyweights: Curious Extremes in Avian Evolution

by David Greer

Anna’s hummingbird

There’s a bird that weighs no more than an average paper clip and is one of the fiercest fliers on the planet. There once was a bird that weighed around half a ton, the same as an average cow, and laid an egg as large as 150 chicken eggs. The elephant bird is long gone but the bee hummingbird remains fighting fit. The only dinosaurs to survive the last mass extinction sixty-six million years ago, birds have evolved since then to fit into every available ecological niche, and today are the most widely distributed form of life on the planet other than microscopic organisms.

Birds are fascinating for any number of reasons, not least because of the mind-boggling variations in size that evolved through the tens of millions of years before humans stumbled onto the planetary stage. For the most part, the large flightless birds had been driven to extinction as humans spread across the planet, and close to two hundred other bird species are believed to have made their final exit during the last five hundred years as humans have largely converted the natural world to serve their own purposes during the latest geological epoch, the Anthropocene. Read more »

Two and a half minutes

by Charlie Huenemann

Edward Hopper, “Room In New York”

There is nothing new in this thought. But it’s worth revisiting now and again.

There’s an unbounded muddy terrain as dark and timeless as night. Drifting slowly over the landscape is a disk of light from an unknown source, like a spotlight. There’s no predictable pattern to its motion, and no place is illuminated for more than two and a half minutes. By then the light has moved on, never to return again.

When the light shines upon a circle of the land, its muddy features are revealed, tangled roots and rocks and mud. Look closer and you will see dull brown pods that stir into motion as soon as the light touches them. The pods break open and human beings climb out. Read more »

As Goes Ohio, Part Two

by Mike Bendzela

The railroad crossing in Dowling, Ohio, along which my great grandmother picked blossoms for her homemade dandelion wine.

And on the pedestal, these words appear: . . . “Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!” Nothing beside remains. —From “Ozymandias,” Percy Bysshe Shelley

Prologue from Part One

An investigation into the livelihoods of two great-great grandfathers, both oilfield workers in Ohio, has of necessity become a study in the nature of forgetting.

I have sought one thing–my ancestral grandfathers’ involvement in the history of oil production in Northwest Ohio–only to have it slip through my fingers. In the process I have found something else, a great grandmother both besotted and besieged by the men in her life, someone whom I can scarcely look away from. With the help of my brother’s research and my mother’s endless stories, I will try to draw Grandma Blanche’s tale out of the dust of an extinct oil town. Read more »

Poetry in Translation

In Memoriam

Kasheer
Saleem morukh
Salaam morukh
Habeeb morukh
Heshaam morukh
Ye shahar morukh
Ye ghaam morukh
Kasheer hund
Subh o shaam morukh

Kashmir
They killed Saleem
They killed Salaam
They killed Habeeb
They killed Heshaam
They killed this city
That town they killed —
All of Kashmir’s blood
They spilled

by Abdul Rehman Rahi (6 May 1922 – 9 January 2023)
—“I swear by you O Kashmiri language, my sight and insight . . .”

Translated from the original Kashmiri by Rafiq Kathwari

Family

by Carol A Westbrook

“Describe your family” was the assignment in my high school sociology class. A straightforward exercise, it was meant to show us how families are the basis on which all the other social institutions are modeled.

It was 1966. I lived in a tidy little bungalow with Mom and Dad, my sister and my two brothers. All four grandparents, deceased at the time, were Polish Catholic immigrants, which explains why my father had 11 siblings, while my mother had 4! Most of these uncles and aunts were married with large families of their own, so I had about 50 first cousins. All of these relatives lived nearby, in the Chicago area. I knew every one of them. This was my family.

At the time of the assignment, most families were “traditional.” Mother, father, siblings, uncles, aunts. There were no gay marriages then, with two mothers or two fathers, and there were few “blended” families of divorce. Furthermore, most adopted children didn’t know their birth parents, and thus did not include them in their families. Today things have changed, but families still remain as the basic social unit. Read more »

Monday, January 9, 2023

Ri-Co-Law!

by Mike O’Brien

At the dawn of this new year, I might have chosen to wax hopeful about promising social and technological developments boding well for the future. Or I might have taken a light-hearted detour from my usual concerns, and written about something artistic, literary or otherwise creatively engaging. But no, there will be none of that here. Because this leopard has accepted his spots, and so instead I will be sharing some sobering and morally outrageous tidbits from a 250-page court filing. I really do think grad school broke my brain. Normal people don’t read court filings. Not even all lawyers do (avoid those ones).

The filing in question was submitted to the federal district court in Puerto Rico near the end of November 2022. Entitled “Municipalities of Puerto Rico vs Exxon Mobil et al.”, it is a class action complaint filed by 16 Puerto Rican municipalities on behalf of all municipalities on the island (these being the “class” represented), against the largest investor-owned energy companies (and their collaborators) conducting business in the territory. These defendants include Exxon Mobil, Shell, Chevron, BP, Peabody Energy, and many others besides, along with the network of media, public relations and think-tank enterprises which these energy companies employed for their anthropogenic global warming (AGW) denial campaigns. Puerto Rico is particularly vulnerable to climate change, as a small island territory in the path of “Hurricane Alley”, and surrounded by waters that are experiencing faster-than-average warming. This vulnerability is cited throughout the complaint, characterizing the territory as an “eggshell plaintiff”, analogous to someone with an eggshell-thin skull who suffers great harm from a blow to the head. The defendant may not have known that the victim had such a thin skull, but they ought to have known that hitting people on the head was likely to cause harm, and must suffer the bad luck of being fully liable for the extraordinarily bad consequences. Of course, in the case of the fossil fuel industry and Puerto Rico, the industry’s own data told them that Puerto Rico had the climate-vulnerability equivalent of an eggshell skull. But this is an industry that historically has had no qualms about bashing literal skulls to advance its interests, so figurative skull-bashing ought not to elicit surprise. Read more »

Monday Poem

‘Scuze Me for Being Cynical

Media (movies, news, tv), does not mediate,
and often obfuscates, it dilates,
though some do legitimately investigate,
producing news upon which we are left to ruminate,
and so, the public often oscillates and vacillates
—but sly and foxy news, well, just prevaricates,
creates fantasies that stuff its banks, which
some accept while some responsibly repudiate,
or, despairing in ennui, tumble into pits of wine,
beer or other booze, or smokey/pokey stuff like opiates
to vegetate, to hesitate, but dumb as stumps
refuse to cogitate and maybe speculate
that things we see on screen are often
putrid distillates of fucking bucks
that flow to banks where it coagulates,
eventually to seep and ooze and translate
into mansions, yachts, and hidden stakes
in off-shore tax accounts and grand estates
while law, and Justice (being blind), seems
to overlook precipitates of graft monsoons
instead of bringing down her gavel to retaliate for such,
while low-class, low-cash chumps it rushes to incarcerate
and crush for crimes too small by contrast to
unhypocritically, adjudicate.

Jim Culleny
© 4/20/21

ChatGPT and the Future of Public Intellectuals

by Joseph Shieber

In a recent short post on “ChatGPT and My Career Trajectory,” the prominent blogger, public intellectual, and GMU economist Tyler Cowen sees AI as posing a threat to the future of public intellectuals. (For what it’s worth, Michael Orthofer, the writer of the excellent Complete Review book review website, seems to agree.)

Cowen writes:

For any given output, I suspect fewer people will read my work.  You don’t have to think the GPTs can copy me, but at the very least lots of potential readers will be playing around with GPT in lieu of doing other things, including reading me.  After all, I already would prefer to “read GPT” than to read most of you.  …

Well-known, established writers will be able to “ride it out” for long enough, if they so choose.  There are enough other older people who still care what they think, as named individuals, and that will not change until an entire generational turnover has taken place. …

Today, those who learn how to use GPT and related products will be significantly more productive.  They will lead integrated small teams to produce the next influential “big thing” in learning and also in media.

I share Cowen’s sense that intellectuals (public or not) shouldn’t ignore the rapidly ever-more-sophisticated forms of AI, including ChatGPT. However, I’m not sure that Cowen is right to suggest that AI output will supplant human output – particularly if he’s making the stronger, normative claim that such a development is actually commendable.

There seem to be three reasons to interact with ChatGPT, all of which can be teased out from Cowen’s comments. First, you could treat ChatGPT as a content creator. Second, you could treat ChatGPT as a facilitator for your own content creation. Finally, you could treat ChatGPT as an interlocutor. (Of course, these ways of interacting with ChatGPT are not mutually exclusive.)

Let’s deal with these ways of interacting with ChatGPT in order. Read more »

Dinner For Nietzsche: Rhythms, Rituals, And Eternal Return

by Jochen Szangolies

Stone where Nietzsche reports having had the inspiration for his ‘eternal return’, with commemorative plaque. Image credit: Kuebi = Armin Kübelbeck, CC BY-SA 3.0, via Wikimedia Commons

Time presents itself, depending on the context, under two different modalities: cyclical and linear. Linear time moves always forward, carrying us from past to present, ever towards an uncertain future; while circular time, the time of clock hands, sunrise and sunset, and recurring seasons, sees us back again at our origin.

These would seem to be somewhat in tension. But I find that time, perhaps like all the great mysteries, is only enriched by its seeming contradictions. Take ‘stopping time’, as it is sometimes portrayed in movies—that is, holding everything frozen. How long does such a state last? What is the difference between it lasting an hour, a day, or an eternity? In the absence of change, time is robbed of duration. But in an instant of time, there can be no change. Hence, any instant, it seems, might as well be an infinity, held in the palm of your hand.

We have just come out the tail end of one of the cycles of time punctuating our lives, and emerged into a new one—at least according to the Gregorian calendar. Perhaps it is natural, then, to muse about the way time seems to both sweep us away while, on the arc traced by the Earth around the Sun, always returning us to the same places again—changed, but the same. Read more »

We Already Know What We Need

by Rebecca Baumgartner

Photo by Sigmund on Unsplash

Parenting is one of the domains where certain people scoff at the idea that reading a book or article could possibly be helpful. “That’s nice and all,” the complaint goes, “but when it comes to real life, all those ideal scenarios fly out the window.” The other group of parents, the ones who gobble up data and theories about child development, feel that any tool or strategy that gets us closer to being the parent we want to be is worth investigating. 

I have fallen into both camps at various times, and I have found it largely depends on the writing skill of the author and the explanatory power of their ideas – but most of all, whether they offer anything genuinely new or perspective-shifting that I couldn’t have figured out on my own amidst the grunt work of being a parent.

A recent NPR article encapsulates the rising industry of telling us what we already know under a trendy label and repackaging common sense as something newsworthy. Starting with the headline of the article – “The 5-minute daily playtime ritual that can get your kids to listen better” – we are already off to a bad start. 

The article discusses the concept of “special time,” which is open-ended playtime where the parent is not telling the child what to do for at least five minutes. This approach is described as a “counterintuitive” concept invented by a specific researcher in the 1970s. It turns out that if you listen to your kid, engage with them as a person, aren’t always barking commands at them, and play with them in a way they find satisfying, they will – wait for it – like you better and be more willing to listen to you. Perhaps shockingly to the researchers, this is solid advice for dealing with pretty much all humans, despite their claim that “the practice often feels awkward for adults at first.” Read more »

How He Saw Himself: on Füssli as a Goblin

by Ada Bronowski 

The weird and wonderful painter Johann Heinrich Füssli (1741-1825), whose most famous work is undoubtedly The Nightmare from 1781, presents an interesting case of dysmorphia. The Nightmare is as disturbing as it is entrancing with its undercurrents of erotic terror and dreamy fantasy, but its surface horror is perhaps not what is most shocking about it. What if the artist’s self-portrait was lurking somewhere across the horse and the goblin?

Neither a historical scene, nor an illustration of a literary reference, the subject-matter of The Nightmare is entirely made up, which, in its 18th century context, makes it rather unique and draws alarming attention to the mind from which it came. Over the same period, Füssli drew a number of self-portraits which, when confronted with portraits of the artists made by others, betray a notable distance between the way the artist appeared to others and the way he saw himself. In a neat and well-rounded Paris exhibition, Füssli: Entre Reve et Fantastique, currently on show at the Musée Jacquemart-André, a few concentrated rooms spin a twisted tale around the windmills of the artist’s mind.

Füssli made his career in England, but he was born in German-speaking Switzerland and spent the formative years of his youth travelling through Europe, settling for a period of eight or so years in Rome. Ordained as a pastor at age twenty, his penchant for provocation and a passion for art kept him away from the pulpits all his life, to end up as Keeper and professor of drawing at the Royal Academy in London. Read more »

A Slow Burn

by Tamuira Reid

A past abortion experience, whether it took place one month ago or decades ago, can be at the root of a range of issues — low self-esteem, relationship problems, disenfranchised grief a slow burn. It doesn’t affect you until later on. [Many] women have had an abortion, but you think you’re alone. You don’t feel you get to grieve it. … It’s a gut-level thing, a tender place. Many have never told a soul. People do not have the same kind of support and validation [to grieve a loss] when they’re disenfranchised, and that is a huge part of abortion grief. The emotional aftermath is so impacted by spiritual, political and ethical values and beliefs. That will really color how they process it and how much they’re able to reach out and get support.” (Abortion Trauma, Psychiatric Times)

When news of the US Supreme Court’s ruling on Dobbs hit New York City, I grabbed my son from school and headed to Washington Square Park, where I would find thousands of other women with a horrible new reality to process. Standing shoulder to shoulder, hoisting our I Am Not Your Handmaid and Bans Off Our Bodies! signs into the sky above us, we chanted and cried, hugged and held.

The SCOTUS ruling wasn’t surprising, as many of us had anticipated such an outcome. But the collective shock we felt that late afternoon – across the city, across the country, across the globe – was palpable. American women had just been sent back to a time where bodily autonomy and privacy isn’t a given.

 Justice Alito’s final draft opinion was foreshadowed by both a leak of his previous draft, and by a relentless, combative line of questioning during the oral arguments in the case; arguments that hinged on vague, unsubstantiated claims of mental health implications for woman post-abortion, namely post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. To abandon stare decisis, SCOTUS couldn’t weaponize a religious, moral, or ideological argument in the same way they could a scientific or medical one. Read more »